I Am (Identity)
i am, become...
i am the misconception,
and the fatal blow.
the angered action gone astray,
by the passionate soul.
i am the mortal in immortal,
and the man in human...
i am the patriot who rebels,
the soldier who puts down his gun.
the man who burns down the house
the day before the bank forecloses.
the worker whose pay they cut,
the citizen whose rights they took,
the husband and father, family gone!
i am the prisoner who's done his time,
the sinner baptized again and again.
the friend who takes the fall,
and gets back up to lend a hand.
i am the echo of a time passed by,
both right and wrong, good and bad...
i am the color of the human heart,
blood red, and beating strong!
i am the one who never quits,
who stands naked on hallowed ground.
my father's son, my mother's hope,
i am the same as you.
i am! i am!
i shout and proclaim!
i am America's identity,
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
O Father
Thus, upon the ground did my body walk
and across the lands did it roam and talk
but O father of my tearing eyes tell me now
what happened to the earth and my old folk
Did my heart astray alone in the darkest way
or did my humble soul denied to remain and stay
but O father of my crying heart tell me then
what happened to the earth and the old way
I see as if my eyes got dropped down on the cheek
or it may be like my sorrows and agony reaching a peak
but O father of my broken back in the dusty past
what happened to the earth that I used to seek
By my own hands my blood did I share freely
in the tubs of wisdom in the rage of the daily
but O father where did my blood now astray
what happened to the earth of the lovely
O father my body got the agony now and then
and my soul tired of roaming and the time is when
O father the time is here and it came to me
where I can raise up and roar outside the den
O father, who was my father through in time
how I wonder what you are and how am I
but O father no time is left to say no time
verily, that's my tomb here, and then I, to goodbye
poem by Taher Shemaly
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Rebels
Rebels! 't is a holy name!
The name our fathers bore,
When battling in the cause of Right,
Against the tyrant in his might,
In the dark days of yore.
Rebels! 't is our family name!
Our father, Washington,
Was the arch-rebel in the fight,
And gave the name to use,-a right
Of father unto son.
Rebels! 't is our given name!
Our mother, Liberty,
Received the title with her fame,
In days of grief, of fear, and shame,
When at her breast were we.
Rebels! 't is our sealed name!
A baptism of blood!
The war-aye, and the din of strife-
The fearful contest, life for life-
The mingled crimson flood.
Rebels! 't is a patriot's name!
In struggles it was given;
We bore it then when tyrants raved
And through their curses 't was engraved
On the doomsday-book of heaven.
Rebels! 't is our fighting name!
For peace rules o'er the land,
Until they speak of craven woe-
Until our rights receive a blow,
From foe's or brother's hand.
Rebels! 't is our dying name!
For, although life is dear,
Yet, freemen born and freemen bred,
We'd rather live as freemen dead,
Than live in slavish fear.
Then call us rebels if you will-
We glory in the name;
For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause,
We count a greater shame.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Corner Stone (For Father's Day)
The father is the source of strength of his family.
He can weather storm in order to protect them.
He will endure rain or shine to provide his love ones.
He is always ready to give his support and guidance all the time.
The father is consistent for his duty and love for the family.
He can move mountains and shy away the temptation.
He gives himself fully to his family with love and devotion.
Children who have a father to guide them are blessed from heaven.
A husband is a gift for his wife and siblings.
The fathers may look tough in the outside yet so soft inside.
His happiness is to see his family well provided.
He sacrifices his own needs for the sake of his family.
Fathers may mean sometimes but his heart is bleeding for his child.
Fathers are the makers of what we become.
Fathers are always there to lend a helping hand.
Fathers sometimes misunderstood of his wisdom not knowing the meaning.
Fathers are gifted to be strong and stable, firm and durable as the homes foundation.
The father is the source of life itself as we become a family.
A home with out a father can not be a family at all.
A child is lucky who have a father's love and care.
A mother is blessed to have her partner and companion in life.
A house is not a home with out the foundation.
A family is blissful when love abounds.
God bless the fathers that honor his love for his family.
And for whom who remain faithful in their vows of love and devotion.
poem by Emelita C. Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tale Of The Trucker's Life
The young bride sits alone in her house,
waiting for her farm hand husband to return to her lonely bosom.
Enters the husband, tired, and cranky.
He goes to the stereo, hooks up his headphones,
and falls asleep listening to country, and western music.
The bride long since gone to bed alone.
The young mother, and her toddler son
in front of the TV watching movies while the
husband/father works third shift at Wal-Mart 25 miles away.
The mother takes her son to his baseball games,
explains why daddy can't come,
because he decided to be a truck driver.
She is mother, father, and sole teacher to there young son.
She wipes away his tears when he is hurt,
Comforts him when he is sick,
and makes excuses for the absent father
who never has acted like he loved their child.
Who wipes away the tears that the
mother/wife sheds every time she sees
how much their son misses his daddy.
Their little boy puts his arm around his
mother's shoulders and with a hug,
he says, 'mom it will be all right.'
Does the trucker miss his family?
Does he feel the same pain, and sorrow?
He must not care, for he stays gone sometimes four,
sometimes six weeks in a row,
only coming home long enough to make love.
Never does he interact with his son, not really.
The wife, and son now lay in the cold, hard ground,
never to rise again. Now it is too late
for the old trucker to tell them how he really felt.
He sits alone in an old rocking chair,
staring at old, faded photos of his wife,
and son, but he is not in any of the pictures.
He stands in front of the pearly gates of Heaven,
he sees his wife, and son just on the other side,
But they don't recognize him.
So goes the tale of the trucker's life.
poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song For Dad
Lately Ive been noticing
I say the same things he used to say
And I even find myself acting the very same way
I tap my fingers on the table
To the rhythm in my soul
And I jingle the car keys
When Im ready to go
When I look in the mirror
Hes right there in my eyes
Starin back at me and I realize
The older I get
The more I can see
How much he loved my mother and my brother and me
And he did the best that he could
And I only hope when I have my own family
That everyday I see
A little more of my father in me
There were times I thought he was bein
Just a little bit hard on me
But now I understand he was makin me
Become the man he knew that I could be
In everything he ever did
He always did with love
And Im proud today to say Im his son
When somebody says I hope I get to meet your dad
I just smile and say you already have
The older I get
The more I can see
How much he loved my mother and my brother and me
And he did the best that he could
And I only hope when I have my own family
That everyday I see
A little more of my father in me
Hes in my eyes
My heart, my soul
My hands, my pride
And when I feel alone
And I think I cant go on
I hear him sayin son youll be alright
Everythings gonna be alright
Yes it is
The older I get
The more I can see
That he loved my mother and my brother and me
And he did the best that he could
And I only hope when I have my own family
That everyday I see
Oh I hope I see
I hope everyday I see
A little more of my father in me
A little more of my father in me
I hope everyday I see in me
In me
In me
I hope everyday I see
A little more of my father in me
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have Always Been... Human!
i have been a fool,
a thief, and a liar.
i have been selfish,
i have been callous.
i have been ignorant,
i have been a prisoner.
i have been an addict,
i have been a loser.
i have been wrong,
i have been angry.
i have been a taker,
i have been a demon.
i have been a hero,
i have been a man.
i have been a husband,
i have been a father.
i have been a seeker,
i have been a worker.
i have been a believer,
i have been a leader.
i have been a giver,
i have been spirit...
i have been a warrior,
i have been forgiven!
and i have always been...
human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Tribute To My Revered Father
My Father was a great teacher,
Good husband to my good Mother;
He taught his pupils very well;
In an old house, did he dwell.
Well he reared his children seven!
Lived for up to eight times ten;
His forehead sweat fell on the soil;
My Father so well, did he toil.
A man who possessed great talents;
And honesty par excellence;
Cheap Politics did he eschew;
This world hath seen but very few.
He lived in humble conditions;
A law-abiding citizen;
He gave us good education;
And raised us well in religion.
He’as born and bred in piety;
And rose in popularity;
A logic-man, Philosopher;
None could him well decipher.
A versatile man, Orator;
He tried to make a new order;
Oppressed, he died with plenty peace;
Yet in god, he lived in ease.
His learning to him was his wealth!
Together with his body’s health;
And she was great too, my Mother;
Who well-supported my Father.
A human ‘immortal’-being!
With yeoman-service worth seeing;
He loved the poor and downtrodden;
That fetched him place sure in Heaven.
But one day when he died, I cried!
By Heaven’s words, he did abide;
God-fearing, undaunted, he left;
For his great soul, a lot I wept.
I see him as a bright new Star!
In the night-Sky clearly, afar;
Oh what a great man Father was!
Truthfulness was his greatest cause.
Fondly dedicated in loving memory of my beloved father
Shri. A.T.Antoniswami M.A., L.T., Coimbatore
poem by John Celes
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No Thugs In Our House
Cast of characters
Graham, a teenager
Mother, a busy housewife
Father, a conservative husband
Policeman, a young constable
Scene: a kitchen in suburbia, one bright saturday morning
Act one
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. her husband burns his paper, sucks his pipe while studying
Their cushion-floor, his viscous poly-paste breath comes out. their
Wall-paper world is shattered by his shout. a boy in blue is busy
Banging out a headache on the kitchen door. all the while graham
Slept on, dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted
To.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Act two
Narrator: the young policeman who just can't grow a moustache will
Open up his book, and spoil their breakfast with reports of asians who
Have been so badly kicked.
Policeman: is this your son's wallet i've got here? he must have
Dropped it after too much beer!
Mother: oh, officer, we can't believe our little angel is the one
You've picked.
Narrator: and all the while graham slept on, dreaming of a world
Where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Narrator: they never read those pamphlets in his bottom drawer.
Policeman: they never read that tattoo on his arm.
Narrator: they thought that was just a boys club badge he wore.
Policeman: they never thought he'd do folks any harm.
Act three
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. she's singing something stale and simple now this business has
Fizzled out. her little tune is such a happy song. her son is
Innocent, he can't do wrong, 'cos dad's a judge and knows exactly what
The job of judging's all about. and all the while graham slept on,
Dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Mother: no thugs in our house!
Father: no thugs in our house!
Complete cast (in unison): no thugs in our house, dear!
Set design by andy partridge with co-ordination by ken ansell.
Stage and scenery by art dragon
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Thugs In Our House
Cast of characters
Graham, a teenager
Mother, a busy housewife
Father, a conservative husband
Policeman, a young constable
Scene: a kitchen in suburbia, one bright saturday morning
Act one
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. her husband burns his paper, sucks his pipe while studying
Their cushion-floor, his viscous poly-paste breath comes out. their
Wall-paper world is shattered by his shout. a boy in blue is busy
Banging out a headache on the kitchen door. all the while graham
Slept on, dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted
To.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Act two
Narrator: the young policeman who just can't grow a moustache will
Open up his book, and spoil their breakfast with reports of asians who
Have been so badly kicked.
Policeman: is this your son's wallet i've got here? he must have
Dropped it after too much beer!
Mother: oh, officer, we can't believe our little angel is the one
You've picked.
Narrator: and all the while graham slept on, dreaming of a world
Where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Narrator: they never read those pamphlets in his bottom drawer.
Policeman: they never read that tattoo on his arm.
Narrator: they thought that was just a boys club badge he wore.
Policeman: they never thought he'd do folks any harm.
Act three
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. she's singing something stale and simple now this business has
Fizzled out. her little tune is such a happy song. her son is
Innocent, he can't do wrong, 'cos dad's a judge and knows exactly what
The job of judging's all about. and all the while graham slept on,
Dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Mother: no thugs in our house!
Father: no thugs in our house!
Complete cast (in unison): no thugs in our house, dear!
Set design by andy partridge with co-ordination by ken ansell.
Stage and scenery by art dragon
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epitaph On My Ever Honoured Father
O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains,
Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend!
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains,
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend;
The pitying heart that felt for human woe,
The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride;
The friend of man — to vice alone a foe;
For "ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."
poem by Robert Burns (1784)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Saying We Hear Often
A saying we hear often like father like son
It is only human when all is said and done
That the boy models himself on the behaviour of dad
More often than not for the good than the bad.
Though few so few ever grow into a sage
Good values by people learned at a young age
In behaviour the son the dad does imitate
One might say from life we get what we create.
The son mostly models himself on the father what more proof does one need
That by good or bad example one only can lead
Though on some occasions this has been proved wrong
The bond between father and son mostly strong.
I'm not into human psychology so don't ask me why
Like father like son in most cases apply
Without a good father the child in life may not succeed
Good role models in their life every young person need.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Yesterday
My friend says I was not a good son
you understand
I say yes I understand
he says I did not go
to see my parents very often you know
and I say yes I know
even when I was living in the same city he says
maybe I would go there once
a month or maybe even less
I say oh yes
he says the last time I went to see my father
I say the last time I saw my father
he says the last time I saw my father
he was asking me about my life
how I was making out and he
went into the next room
to get something to give me
oh I say
feeling again the cold
of my father's hand the last time
he says and my father turned
in the doorway and saw me
look at my wristwatch and he
said you know I would like you to stay
and talk with me
oh yes I say
but if you are busy he said
I don't want you to feel that you
have to
just because I'm here
I say nothing
he says my father
said maybe
you have important work you are doing
or maybe you should be seeing
somebody I don't want to keep you
I look out the window
my friend is older than I am
he says and I told my father it was so
and I got up and left him then
you know
though there was nowhere I had to go
and nothing I had to do
poem by William Stanley Merwin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Story of Two Soldiers
A story of a soldier, with a heart
Who came upon a dead Japanese soldier
With a letter sticking out his pocket, in the war
This soldier took the letter, obviously
The important treasure of the dead one.
He framed it and stored it;
Another man's most prized possessions,
Of a child's colored picture, and a baby's photo.
Years later, and someone notices
The framed paper, and suggests
Trying to track down the original family
And though it seems impossible:
The impossible is accomplished,
Through another soldier's care, though he was
A stranger to the poor dead soldier
He must have felt their close brotherhood,
As two soldiers engaged in a difficult war.
And there is a woman now,
Who cradles the picture she colored
As a small child; and her baby sister
In the photo at the top; also living, now an adult
She said, Father never returned to us
We never had a chance to know him
But now we know him; he's come back
We know who he was thinking about
At the end- this man gave our father back to us.
And the old soldier has a new friend now;
If you treat the other side's soldier as no less
Than your own family
His family will come to know you in time,
As truest friend,
And closer to heart
Than any grief could ever reach.
poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Family Man
Written by lindsey buckingham and richard dashut.
Walk down this road
When the road gets rough
I fall down
I get up
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
Walk down this road
In the cool of the night
Dont know whats wrong
But I do know whats right
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
I am what I am...
A family man
I am what I am...
A family man
Mother... father... brother...
Mother... father... brother...
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Of The House
you are the original template
you are the original exemplary
how seen were actually?
how revered were you (honestly) at the time?
why pleased with you low maintenance?
you loved us more than we could've loved you back
where was you ally your partner in feminine crime?
oh mother who's your buddy?
oh mother who's got your back?
the heart of the house
the heart of the house
all hail the goddess!
you were "good ol'"
you were "count on 'er 'til four am"
you saw me run from the house
in the snow melodramatically
oh mother who's your sister?
oh mother who's your friend?
the heart of the house
the heart of that house
all hail the goddess!
we left the men and we went for a walk in the gatineaus
and talked like women to women would
womyn to womyn would "where did you get that from?
must've been your father your dad"
I got it from you I got it from you
do you see yourself in my gipsy garage sale ways?
in my fits of laughter?
in my tinkerbell tendencies?
in my lack of color coordination?
song performed by by Alanis Morissette from Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Incarcerate...
incarcerate,
poverty's grip.
human rights taken,
rape of soul.
colors,
human cries.
black and white,
Satan's grip.
patriot,
or citizen?
stolen land,
or the gift of earth?
burn your money,
burn your hate.
we live free...
hand in dirty hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My unconditional love
There is no one greater than my father in my eyes
He calls me in the morning
Just to tell me that he was dreaming about me
And woke to pray for me
There is no one caring like my father in my life
He calls me during the day
Just to tell me that he is doing nothing
But thinking of me
There is no mother comparable to my father
The man took care of me from birth
Raised me with no woman by his side
Told me about the menstrual stage
And even knows the type of tampons I use
There is no woman comparable to my father
He cooks for me every meal
Breakfast, lunch and dinner
He cleans the house
Whilst I write poems about how great he is
He is my star and my bling-bling
He is my divine caramel ornament
And the on who sometimes does my laundry
There is no rock like my father
He told me I was going to get hurt in life
But never even once failed to support my decisions
He comforts me when I cry
He never withdraws information from me even about sex
There is no stone like my father
He protects and gives me elements of life
Wakes up at twelve midnight to rub my chest
When flu and fever befriend me
He wakes up at three in the morning
Just to put his hand on my head
And pray for me
He is my father and my only hope
My father is my mother, the one I cry to at all time
He never gets tired or deaf because of my screams
I could never find any strong human love like his
So the man is my father it shows
poem by Mitta Xinindlu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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America is America
America is America the land of the free, born in
the hope of a new world created, amongst men
who believed the vision of liberty and a freedom
to live in this glorious world
as inspired by valued people, created by its natural
landscaping, bounded by principles that to live in
harmony with nature has come to witness the wisdom
of our dear forefather the dignity of each man, living
in a time of what has been bless by the Almighty Father
perfected by His creation
as the spring birth the summer breeze, and the night
comes after the day, the morning has bless the loving
people of America, where respect and understanding
welcome all nation to shelter, the cheddar of Lebanon
Oh! America, where every hope comes in the most
expected ways, come swift it away for the day has given
to you to stay, Nay! America leaves us with pain, our
hearts echo it joy to renew the eternity bell, where you
always there to lend your hand, Alas! America, your
the answer of our call, the unity that we almost fall, the
clings of every nation souls to live freely as everybody
wants to be free
America is America, the journey that always there, the
step that make us well and the nation that takes you there
Viva America!
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Am I? I Am!
who am i?
whose voice do you hear
when i growl?
whose face do you see
when i moan?
i am the train
that hasnt come
for twenty years,
the tracks left to whimper
like a deserted bride.
i am the lock rusted,
and the key that is lost.
i am the cross of silver
on the neck of the corpse.
i am the soldier come home
to no home at all.
i am the father burying
his only son.
i am the vote not cast,
the prayer unspoken.
i am the homeless shelter,
and the house in the suburbs.
i am the husband and wife,
splitting after 25 years.
i am the abused child,
the worker without a job.
i am two young men who are
in passionate love,
and the families that
turned their backs.
i am the young boy and girl
making love for the first time,
when nothing else matters.
i am the empty church,
and the library closed down.
i am laws that take away
the individual's rights.
i am a poet, a hammer, a wheelbarrow,
and a bag of used clothes,
left on the doorstep
of the family in need....
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Prayer to You
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
For all that you've done for me.
In the early morning hours,
When I arise to greet the Sun...
I feel blessed and prepared,
With such gratefulness...
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
And when noon approaches...
No matter what I have done,
Before that time comes...
That may create a disturbance,
I did not invite nor did I make.
I find time to show it is You I appreciate.
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
Whether or not...
Thunder storms roar,
Or rain drops fall to pitter and pat.
Thank you, My Father
For all that You've done for me.
For all that you've done for me...
I thank You, My Father.
And at the oncoming of Sunset...
Not one moment do I forget,
The power of Your presence...
That showers the blessings,
From You I get!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
Thank You...
Father, Father, Father!
In prayer to You.
This I must do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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